The Problem With Couches
by cookieascrazy
Summary: Monroe has two loves- clocks and eating. His humourous attempt at eating a couch. Written in the same universe as The Problem With Having A Blutbad For A Not-boyfriend based on a once sentence mention. Kid!Fic. ONESHOT


Hello fellow Grimmlings! Well I know I should be working on TPWHABFANB… Okay, acronyms don't work for me… but since I'm taking so long to update (and there will be an update!) This is my way of apologising to you all for the super long and annoying wait. This is set in the same universe as The Problem with having a blutbad for a Not-boyfriend, but it's not necessary to read that. Side note: don't really delve into it but if you've read TPWHABFANB then you'll know that Monroe's mom is reformed and divorced but that happens later. I know some people have me on author alert so if that's you give a shout friends:) I'm going to stop talking now and just let you read… so, once again, hugs for readers and cookies and hugs for reviewers.

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**The problem with couches**

Monroe was four. Being four was quite a lot more boring than you'd think, actually. The books were boring, sleep was boring but his mother insisted upon it, the radio was boring. Everything in his house was utterly, impossibly boring. The only thing baby-Monroe found some interest in was eating. Eating and clocks. Eating was good, he'd learned, it meant that the rumble in his belly stopped and food tasted amazing! Clocks were good also; this had taken longer to learn. He was fascinated by them, the way they moved and the sounds they made, also, they were quite shiny. These were the things that Monroe found entertainment in albeit for a short time. He'd chew on anything and everything and pull clocks apart to his heart's content. If it wasn't for his mother, that is. His mother had this awful habit of ruining his fun. If he chewed on a shoe, it'd be "_No stop that right now"_. If he pulled apart a clock it would be "_Put that down this instant"._ If he chewed on a clock, well, all hell would break loose. It was in his baby-sitter Genevieve that he found a little freedom. Ginny was lovely, she was kind and nice and smelled good too. She'd let Monroe eat to his heart's content and even brought him a clock that he wouldn't break. When mother left, Ginny would come to play. Unfortunately for Ginny, she was not Monroe's mother, so he simply couldn't hold all the same love for her as he did for his mother. Ginny seemed fine with it though, she cooed and played and muttered her odd adult noises at him. Ginny looked after him when his mother went hunting. Ginny, poor thing- was human. Monroe knew all about his blutbad heritage, or as much as a baby could anyway. He knew that he could grow fur! And his mother could too. Ginny, however, showed no signs of blutbad-ness.

It was on a hunting evening, when Ginny was looking after him, that Monroe decided that the couch look awfully tasty.

Carefully, he formulated a plan, stalking the couch like prey. He attacked from the side, landing in his full blutbad form on top of the couch, snarling and attempting to bite off the couch's non-existent head. He viciously tore apart the cushions, sending stuffing everywhere. He growled happily.

It was a testament to his bad luck that Ginny chose this moment to make her appearance. She screamed upon the sight of a little bad wolf tearing up the couch cushions and disappeared from the room. This had little effect on Monroe until his mother came crashing through the door, having gotten a panicked call from Ginny. Ginny left quickly, frightened terribly. Monroe took his mother's appearance as a sign he'd soon be grounded for life and decided it was now or never. He took a running jump, opening his mouth as wide as he could and promptly smashed into the side of the couch he apparently wouldn't be able to fit in his mouth. He tilted his head, frowning. The tasty couch of evil would submit to him! He growled, latching onto the leg. He was still chewing when his mother came over and tried to pry him free of the couch leg. The couch leg snapped off in Monroe's sharp teeth and he swallowed it triumphantly, only to feel quite sick afterwards. It tasted horrible. Food suddenly lost its appeal and Monroe decided that next time he'd eat a clock. Clocks were good.

The problem with couches was they were really weren't that tasty after all.


End file.
